


L'amant - The Lover

by peacepunch123 (lilliecase)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - World War II, Can be read independent of fandom, F/M, Language, M/M, Nazis, Other, Physical Abuse, Resistance, Slurs, Smoking, Unrequited Love, Violence, WIP, Weapons, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-09 17:51:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11109756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilliecase/pseuds/peacepunch123
Summary: Lorenzo S. Beneduce attends the funeral of his father one gloomy morning.As a member of the Resistance, nothing comes easy for Enzo. It seems that his entire life is one giant battle—earning money to support his widowed mother, gathering information with the maquisards in Bordeaux, or simply having a conversation with his closest friend, Antonio.But when circumstance takes him to Paris, everything changes. He is pushed to his limits and challenged in ways that he had never imagined. He is forced to act like a truepartigiano.Lorenzo must answer the questions that he tried so hard to escape in the past: what was he fighting for? What had become of his half-brother? And how did he truly feel about Antonio?





	L'amant - The Lover

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this story, in tandem with _Der Lügner - The Liar_ , for over a year now. This is my first time sharing it anywhere. :-) I have a bad habit of going back to edit/rewrite all the time, so check back often to see if things have changed, because they certainly will.
> 
> I have about 4 chapters already written and will post them as soon as I'm done with editing them (for the 10th time, and certainly not the last).
> 
> Comments/critiques, shares, and kudos are so greatly appreciated, it motivates me to make the best work that I can. Thank you so much for reading! And thank you so much for the awesome response on my other story, it means a lot!

He straightened his tie.

It wasn’t often that he wore formal attire like this. Lorenzo would, if he was given the option, most likely wear casual clothing everywhere. He was a laid-back man, and theoretically, his attire would reflect that at whatever event he attended. Weddings, business, travel… _Funerals._

That happened to be the occasion of tonight’s gathering. The funeral of his father. It was a very sore subject for Lorenzo, but he had mourned enough in private already. Tonight was simply a show, a ritual, a rite of passage. There would be no emotion on his part. The fact of the matter was simple. His father was a good man at heart. He didn’t deserve to die, not so soon. But sometimes, God was one cruel bastard. Lorenzo knew that well.

He left the bathroom with a few thoughts lingering in his mind— _this tuxedo was his. It’s expensive. It doesn't fit quite right._ —and found his mother in the kitchen.

She’d her back turned to him, her head cradled in her hands. She was dressed in all black. He was concerned for her. Death was taking its toll on the poor woman. It showed its ugly face in her once-beautiful, now-cadaverous frame.

“Mother?”

She spun around, swiping at her tears, quick to change back to the cheerful woman she once was. “Yes, my love _?_ What do you need?”

He felt a weak, sickly smile bubble on his lips. “For you to be happy.”

“Oh, my darling…” The widow hurried to her son, the boy—no, the young man—who had been so strong through it all. They embraced. She was physically a fraction of the woman she once was, Lorenzo knew, but she still gave the sorts of hugs that made him want to cry. If anything, he should be the one consoling her. It was chivalrous; it was the way he was raised.

He placed a gentle hand on her back and whispered, “We should get going.”

“Yes, you’re right.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and said, “I’m going to use the powder room one last time. Wait for me outside?”

“Alright.”

 

It was a nice day outside, but not by traditional standards. The sky was grey and calm. It wasn’t too warm, where their fancy clothes made them sweaty, and not too cold, where they needed to cling to their overcoats. Just a bitter, neutral day—the type of day that Lorenzo would savour, if he weren’t so preoccupied with other things.

Lorenzo stood outside, watching the clouds drift by. The cigarette between his fingers had yet to be lit. He wasn’t in the mood for a smoke. It was just a force of habit, really. He was more of a social smoker than anything. Some people found it to be a stress reliever, but not him—he found much of his solace in alcohol.

The cemetery was a few blocks away, and a good thing too. Any farther and they would have had to bike, and his mother was in no condition for that. She was in no condition for very much, to be completely honest, and Lorenzo did what he could to ease her pain. It hadn’t been easy, but neither was this whole fucking war. This death was just his own personal bomb, delivered to him by Mr. Hitler himself.

His thoughts had distracted him. When he returned to reality, a man stood beside him—a familiar face. He stared out into the street, giving Lorenzo his space.

“Toño?”

“Enzo.” He turned to face Lorenzo with the most radiant smile painted on his face. His Spanish was lilting and beautiful, unlike Enzo’s, which was quite choppy and strangely accented. “You looked as if you needed a second.”

“Don’t look so happy, you idiot. It’s my father’s funeral.”

“Right, sorry.” He tried his best to wipe the smile off of his face, but he was having some apparent difficulty. Antonio shifted around, fiddled with his fingers, before blurting out, “I’m going to do it, Enzo.”

“What the hell are you on about now?”

“You know very well what the hell I’m on about.”

“Oh, _Gesù Christo._ Still? Just do it already, for God’s sake!”

“I know, I know, I’ve said before, ‘This is it, this is the one.’ But _really_ , Enzo, I mean it this time!”

“How long have you been dating Anri?”

“Seven months, two weeks, and a day. But who’s counting.”

“And how many times have you tried to propose to her?”

He hesitated. “Four. Four times.”

“Uh-huh. So what makes now so special?”  
“I was corresponding with François, you see, and—”

“Oh, Lord, have mercy.”

“What’s the matter with François?”

“You _know_ what’s the matter with François. He’s… He’s… “

“French?”

“ _E_ _xactly._ ”

Antonio crossed his arms, giving the Italian man a strange look. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing. In case you haven’t realized it, we _do_ live in France. Unless you thought you were still in Rome?”

“I’m from Capri, stupid.”

“Beside the point.”

Lorenzo shot him a glare and then lowered his gaze to his feet. Antonio was his good friend, but he sure as hell could be an irritating prick. He heard a quiet, striking noise— _tssshk_ —and looked over to see the Spaniard lighting a cigarette of his own. He offered his light to Lorenzo, who sighed and leaned in, cupping the flame and lighting it. Lorenzo took a long, hard drag.

“So, Enzo. How about those cigarette rations, hm?”

“I gave you your share of _my_ rations three days ago. Don’t tell me you’re nearly out already.”

“What can I say? We all have our vices.”

Their conversation lulled, probably because of Lorenzo’s sour disposition. Conversations are hard to progress when one party refuses to contribute, but Antonio tried nonetheless. “François said that we don’t know how this whole war thing is going to play out. I could die tomorrow, if the Germans decided to blow up the entirety of France.”

“An impossibility.”

“An im _prob_ ability. He has a point, you know. François isn’t a dumb man. With the profession we’re in, you can’t be.”

Enzo took a drag from the cigarette and tilted his head to the side, breathing smoke as smooth as silk. “That’s what I thought. But then I met you.”

“Ha ha. You’re a downright comedian, aren’t you.”

“Need I remind you,” Lorenzo said, raising an eyebrow, “that François is only a hired hand. His loyalty lies wherever the money is.”

“His loyalty lies with me.” Antonio’s voice turned steely, and he looked at Lorenzo murderously. “His loyalty lies with the Resist—”

Lorenzo whacked the Spaniard upside the head, hissing, “You can’t say shit like that in public, stupid!”

The moment was tense—the two looked as if they could rip each other to pieces—and, as always, Antonio _smiled_. “Still having anger management issues, I see.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

The Spaniard’s laughter filled the street, echoing down the dirtied alleyways and the sewers. “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment. But really, Lorenzo, François has his priorities straight. He’d never betray th—our cause _._ ”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You’re too suspicious.”

“You’re too generous.”

Their cigarettes had been reduced to butts, and at that moment, the widow of the evening walked out of their apartment building. Her expression was blank, and her face was veiled. The two men threw their cigarette stumps into the street. Lorenzo took his mother’s arm gently, serving as her escort. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

**WIP!**


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